THE
FINAL DRAFT OF A LOVE STORY
By
Emily Safron
Chapter
1: Rain
and Cocky Newcomers
It
was a sunlit day among the mossy stones surrounding the lake.
Well,
actually it wasn't, but Fakir could write whatever he wanted, right?
The boy sighed.
Usually,
he had no problem writing, but today he just… couldn't.
He had the urge to write something exciting and fantastic.
He wanted to write a fairy tale.
It
was a gloomy day among the stones surrounding the misty lake.
There,
that was better.
He had to be careful with what he wrote, knowing full well that he could
change the things around him, for better and for worse.
That was precisely why he refused to write that kind of thing.
Ever since Mytho's story, he had forbidden the notion from ever bubbling
up in his brain.
Fakir
raised his dark, emerald eyes to the window.
At one end of the sky, the dark clouds piled up over one another like a
bunch of big black cotton balls being washed down a drain.
On the other side, the sky was still blue, with a few wisps of white here
and there. A
brief flash of lightning lit up the darkness for a moment, then was followed a
few seconds later by a crash of thunder:
a challenge.
As the clouds moved to overtake the sky, it almost looked like a battle
of good versus evil.
Sadly, of course, nature deemed that 'evil' would win this battle, the
boy noted grimly as raindrops began to fall against the windowpane.
It
was times like this when Fakir was all too aware of life's never-ending fairy
tale. It
made him feel haunted, like Drosselmeyer was still alive and watching every move
the people made, whittling away the time before he could write his next big,
tragic novel.
Letting
his pen drop from his hand, he took the almost clean sheet of paper he’d been
writing on and crumpled it up with disdain, hurling it fiercely at the
wastebasket near the edge of his desk.
He
would never write fairy tales.
He wouldn't hurt the people around him or make them puppets like his
cruel ancestor had.
And he certainly wouldn't do that to a certain little, yellow duck…
"Well, if I'm not going to write, then I might as well make sure she's doing alright in the storm," he decided greyly, grabbing his raincoat and an umbrella from the closet.
The
waters of the lake were high and swelling with the rain, making it difficult not
to be swept up into them.
Ahiru sat patiently beneath the dock, willing the waters to stop rising,
lest she be pulled into them and thrown back into the mess that she’d already
escaped once.
If she had to battle the waves again, she might not make it out.
“Ahiru!”
A voice called faintly from somewhere behind her.
Who
on Earth…? That
must be Fakir!
“Quack!”
She responded urgently, hoping that he could hear her.
He must’ve, because shortly afterwards, a pair of legs appeared before
her, kneeling to reveal the handsome face of her raven-haired friend.
“How
are you holding up out here?” he asked in his usual monotone.
“Quack,”
I’m fine, she replied, though she knew Fakir couldn’t understand her
disgruntled sounds.
He didn’t really need to, since he knew her as well as she did, if not
better. “Quack,
quack,” It’s just a little rough out here.
“Ahiru,
your eyes tell me you’re scared.”
The
little duck’s face formed a pout and she huffed out her feather-covered chest.
“Quack!”
Scared?
I am not!
“You’re
a lousy liar.
But if you want to stay out here…” the boy began to rise from the wet
earth.
“Quack!”
Hey, wait! As
much as she hated when Fakir made fun of her, she knew she couldn’t stay where
she was, or else she would wind up as a meager helping of duck soup.
The legs returned to their former position, but when the boy’s face
reappeared, a wide smirk was present there.
“So,
you’ve changed your mind, have you?” he teased, extending a dry hand toward
the tiny, yellow bird.
“I thought you might.”
He
must have some nerve…
Ahiru thought, reluctantly approaching the outstretched hand.
Still, she would be out of the rain and away from the turbulent waters,
so she wouldn’t be ungrateful.
“Quack, quack,” Thank you, Fakir, she chirped politely, even
if she was irritated.
“You’re
welcome, Ahiru,” the boy answered, apparently able to discern her intentions.
Hopping
onto the former knight’s hand, the duck was abruptly swept up from the ground
and cradled against a warm body.
She hadn’t realized just how cold she was until then, and found herself
snuggling against the dry fabric of Fakir’s shirt.
“Hey,
watch it! That
tickles!” her rescuer complained as they traveled.
“Quack, quack,” It serves you right.
“Class!
Listen up!” the ballet teacher instructed, though he was no longer a
cat. “A
new student will be joining us today!”
Fakir
was bored.
He
sat cross-legged on the floor with the other students, but was most certainly
not as anxious to meet the newcomer as the rest.
It’s probably just another snot-nosed little girl... all new
students are the same.
All
except for one, and she was no longer able to dance with human legs.
He
sighed, making no attempt to hide his agitation.
Whoever the kid was, she was taking a damn long time to show up.
They could’ve had three people introduced by now, and the short-tempered
boy was becoming impatient.
The
teacher coughed, almost as a sort of signal for the student to come in, but
still no one entered.
He coughed again, louder, but still no one.
Finally, he growled (much in a cat-like manner) and stormed his way over
to the door to usher the girl in.
When he opened it, there was nothing there, no student.
“Well
that’s odd,” he mumbled, leaning out into the hall to see if she had run off,
which, apparently, she had.
Blowing it off, he turned back to the remaining members of the class.
“Er, nevermind.
It seems that our new ballerina is having a problem appearing here today.
Go about your business as usual.”
Fakir
scoffed audibly as he rose from his [rather comfortable] spot on the floor.
“What a waste of time…” he muttered under his breath before
resuming the stretches that were so rudely interrupted by the introduction of a
no-show.
Things
went smoothly from there, just the way they normally did, even though Fakir was
still getting used to the instructor not yelling at Ahiru for being tardy all
the time. He
found he rather missed it; it added a bit of excitement to the dull routine.
The only time he was really happy dancing lately was when he was all by
himself, imagining the smiling, blue-eyed girl in his arms.
Her
red hair would be let loose all the way down to her knees, and her bright eyes
would gaze at him serenely from beneath her thick lashes.
She would giggle and blush and let her slender limbs evade his grasp,
dancing around him with a mixture of clumsiness and grace.
He would smile at her antics and play along, only once in a while
brushing against her.
Then, as their sweet pas de deux came to a close, he would capture her in
his arms and pull her close, staring into her clear, blue eyes.
Then, raising her soft chin to his own, he-
“I
apologize for being late,” a calm, silky voice bombarded his ears,
interrupting his daydreams.
“And
where have you been?” the instructor yelled.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wanted an early marriage!”
Fakir
turned to see what caused all the distracting commotion, thinking it sounded
frighteningly similar to… another commotion he was acquainted with all too
well. His
eyes were suddenly drawn to the unfamiliar and beautiful face of a girl.
Draped about her shoulders was her long, white hair, tied off at the
ankles with a red ribbon.
Her pale skin contrasted her dark clothing, which consisted of a black
leotard over white leggings, leading down to her strangely colored toe shoes—they
were blood red.
One thing he seemed to have missed was that her mouth was currently
moving at a mile per minute, talking back to the instructor.
“…is
none of your business,” the boy managed to catch the tail end of what she’d
been saying.
“Well
of all the insolent… You will marry me right this instant!
Here and now!” the teacher pointed at the girl and shouted, same as
ever.
The girl rolled her eyes and scoffed, seeming completely uninterested in her new instructor’s demands. “That will be the day I quit dancing and take up writing.” Suddenly, the cocky newcomer let her gaze drift directly toward Fakir, making his breath catch in his throat—her eyes were a strikingly beautiful shade of… amber.
Usually,
Fakir would take his lunch periods to sneak out to the pond and visit with Ahiru.
Today, however, that wasn’t an option; the little yellow duck was
currently at his house, probably either sleeping or cleaning out his bread
supply. And
so, Fakir sat on the ledge of the fountain, reading quite an interesting fairy
tale—for about the five-hundredth time.
But even now, after knowing the story so well (he lived it, for
crying out loud), there were still parts of it he couldn’t help reading over
and over again.
“The
Prince and the Raven, eh?”
The
sudden voice snapped the boy out of his daydreaming and nearly made him fall
back first into the water.
Regaining his balance and turning around, he had his mind all set to kill
whoever had dared to interrupt him.
This had better be-
He
jerked to a halt mid thought as he found himself glaring into a pair of wide,
golden eyes. Speechless,
the boy let himself drop back into the position he’d been in before the rude
intrusion, with the exception of his head, which was still facing directly
toward the long-haired girl.
“Did
you know that originally, there were supposed to be three princesses?” the
girl asked matter-of-factly.
Fakir just gawked at her audacity, barely even realizing he’d been
spoken to until the girl casually took a seat beside him.
The moment he was free of her entrancing gaze, though, he was right back
on track.
“Right,”
he retorted sarcastically, sticking his nose back into his book and pretending
the girl wasn’t there.
“It’s
true,” she insisted.
“I thought you’d already know, being a descendant of Drosselmeyer and
all.” Raising
a pale hand to her mouth, the girl tried to conceal a yawn, acting as if the
topic were droll and out of date.
But
the statement caught Fakir’s attention.
“And just how would you know that?” he growled, turning toward
her again. There’s
no way she could know he’s my ancestor… just who is this girl anyway?
“How
would I know what?
About the third princess or about you?”
She began twirling her finger in the water of the fountain, but didn’t
bother to look up at Fakir, much to the boy’s gratitude and yet irritation.
“Just
who do you think you are anyway?” he asked calmly, slamming his book shut and
rising from his place.
He glared at the back of her head, then watched as she slowly stood up,
as if to add suspense to the moment she was creating.
“Who
do you think I am?”
“I’m
not going to play your stupid game.”
His patience was growing extremely thin.
“Either tell me who you are or leave.”
The
girl stood at her full height, but was still quite a bit shorter than the angry
boy. She
raised her deep, amber eyes to stare directly into Fakir’s emerald ones,
making him fight to keep glaring.
“Yes, I suppose an introduction is in order,” she gave a mock bow as
she introduced herself, “My name is Maria, dancer, musician, and insurgent
extraordinaire.
But you, dear knight, may call me Ria.”
Fakir’s
glare had melted away into an odd confusion by the time she was finished with
her short monologue.
Not that it meant he would just let her shove all that down his throat,
of course. “I’m
not a knight,” he replied icily.
“Now just tell me what you want so you can get lost.”
“I
want to be your friend, of course!” she grinned, revealing her perfect, white
teeth. “Now
aren’t you going to introduce yourself properly, too?”
“No,”
Fakir scoffed.
“I should’ve figured you’d say something stupid like that.
You look like the dumb type; rude, too.”
He couldn’t believe how blunt he was being with her, but he couldn’t
seem to help it.
This girl, ‘Ria’ was really starting to get on his nerves, just like…
someone else had… except that this was a whole lot more deliberate.
But for some reason, the girl didn’t look altogether disappointed by
his statement.
“Yeah,
I’ve been told that,” she still had that cheeky grin plastered on her face,
like she was enjoying the conversation.
Suddenly, she raised her finger to her chin and struck a thinking pose.
“Actually, you know, I can’t remember anyone who didn’t tell
me that.”
Turning
on his heel to walk away, he threw over his shoulder, “Maybe that’s because
they’re honest?”
He’d already taken a few steps away from the girl when Ria all but
shouted her reply after him.
“Well
at least you’re honest with me, because you sure as hell aren’t honest with
your duck princess.”
No
one who’d been listening in on the conversation would’ve had the vaguest
idea as to what the girl was talking about, but Fakir knew.
In fact, it sent steam blowing out of his ears in an effort not to turn
around and beat her to a pulp, neverminding the laws of chivalry.
Not that it mattered, since by the time he’d turned around, ready to
attack her with a somewhat less physically painful comeback, she’d disappeared.
“What an obnoxious girl…”